


Impact

by throwashadow



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:44:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/throwashadow/pseuds/throwashadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're okay. It's going to be okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impact

**Author's Note:**

> An AU in which the Doomstar was a Nibiru cataclysm - a hypothetical event in which a distant planet impacts the Earth. Idea sparked by and half-formed by hatebeat.

Pickles sat on the couch in Charles' office, toeing at the carpet pattern. He was there for lack of anything good to do, anything to occupy him in his biting sobriety.

Mordhaus' bi-monthly rations were getting thin, and alcohol was the first thing to run out. If they would be able to compile another shipment, it would be at least two months before it got here. Life wasn't hard for the boys, but it was sure a lot less easy now that they couldn't get drunk.

For Pickles, it was the worst. He withdrew, some days couldn't make it out of bed. And though the lack of booze was surely taking a toll on his psyche, something else was bothering him.

It was something that Charles had told him, around the time they started having rations. Just a bit after the Doomstar clipped the planet, and destroyed a fifth of the world's population -- and over half its resources.

"That was our chance. We did all we could."

He told him over a full glass of brandy, his tie loose, jacket slung elsewhere. Pickles thought he noticed his eyelashes sticking together a bit, but it was hard to tell through his glasses. It was the last time he saw Charles with a drink in his hand.

When he managed to leave his room, Pickles tried to spend time with Nathan. Nathan seemed to be almost as disturbed as he was -- though he hadn't heard what Charles said. But it was moreso that he needed someone familiar that he could cling to.

Charles' office wouldn't open for him anymore. He mentioned it once, after being paged into the office for a quick talk about rationing procedures.

"That's odd," Charles said. Nothing more. But his voice told Pickles that he wasn't to ask again.

So he was lonely. Some days he forgot that Charles was still living in the house, only because it had been so long since he last heard from him. Every week or so, he would be paged in, and Charles would just let him sit there as he worked, glancing up at him every once in a while. Or he would take him, quickly and without passion, hardly undressing. Without a word.

Whenever their faces were close, the smell of alcohol seeped off of Charles' breath.

  
It was night time, after a very spare, solemn dinner. Pickles had been paged in, and directed to wait on the couch. Charles sat across the room, still at his desk, doing work. What work, Pickles couldn't be sure. There were no albums planned, no performances. But surely Charles was finding something to do anyway. Maybe he was secretly drafting a plan to restore the world. Heh.

Pickles looked up, wondering if Charles was going to get up and fuck him anytime soon. Or maybe he'd suddenly ask him to leave. But Charles was, indeed, closing his computer and standing up. He joined him on the couch.

"Pickles." He didn't smell like alcohol this time. Pickles realized it was the first time he'd heard his name from Charles in months.

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to tell you something that none of the other boys know."

His heart clutched a bit. _We did all we could._

"Or at least, I don't think they do. Nathan's been tossing in his sleep..."

Pickles looked down at his hands. Why was Charles watching Nathan sleep when he hardly looked at Pickles anymore?

"Alright, well, what is it?"

Charles shifted a bit closer to him, but looked at the floor. "The Doomstar is circling back around. It's set for direct impact this time."

Pickles just looked at him. "I don't believe you. How the fuck can you know something like that?"

"Ishnifus," he said simply, bringing his hands up to his forehead. "He envisioned it after it clipped us the first time. It's an extension of the prophecy. We had one chance."

"So, like, are we all gonna die?"

"We don't know the expected time of impact. It seems that it just keeps jumping around in space, unpredictably. Like it's taunting us." He began to sound exhausted.

Pickles didn't know how to feel. He looked out the window, trying to sort his emotions. As he looked up, he saw a red shadow fall over the moon.

"Uh...Charles..."

Charles looked up too. He swallowed. "Isn't that funny," he said flatly, still in that drained voice.

"What can we do? Is there a shelter or something? You have a plan for this, right?"

Charles finally looked into his eyes. His were bloodshot and wet. "We have nothing. There aren't enough resources. I put in so many requests for materials, I had teams try to procure them...there just wasn't enough. There was no way."

He got very quiet after that and cradled his forehead in his palms again.

The sight got Pickles choked up, but he didn't want to cry right now. He was gonna die, and even though he was sober...

Charles had told him. Him first, and now, only him.

He glanced out the window again. The red shadow had grown, and was now comsuming a sizeable portion of the sky. The cases of weapons, the lamps, the ornaments and papers on Charles' desk were all shaking violently.

He was so scared. It was strangely beautiful to look outsie, but Charles was beside him, silent, still. Blaming himself , probably.

"Hey...this is it, chief. If we're gonna die, you have to at least watch." His voice shook, much as he fought it.

Charles saw the approaching shadow; the quaking grew more intense, furniture beginning to rattle, their bodies quivering involuntarily.

Arms wrapped around Pickles and pulled him close to Charles' chest. He could feel Charles' heart beating rapidly beneath his skin. "You're okay. It's going to be okay." He held him tighter as he said it, as if afraid the tremors would move them apart.

Pickles looked up at his face, which was still pointed towards the window, almost dutifully. He felt his lip quiver, and swallowed to keep down tears. Instead, he pressed his forehead into Charles' chest.

"It's okay," Charles repeated. He was holding him tighter than ever. Pickles couldn't see what the sky looked like anymore, and Charles' voice revealed nothing.

"Hey, Charles...I love you. I love you so fucking much."

"I love--"


End file.
